Author’s note…

For me, writing "Eli" was a way to take a fresh look at old truths.  It seems the more I hear the same Gospel accounts over and over again the harder I have to work to prevent my ear from growing dull.  My old wineskin of a soul keeps insisting that it's heard it all before.  But by putting the Gospel in a contemporary time and place I've moved Christ out of my "been there, heard that" comfort zone and put Him back in my face where He can test me, challenge me and encourage me.  Also, by stripping away the historical and cultural trappings that I sometimes hide behind to insulate myself from His truth, He once again becomes that radical, life-changer He was the first time I met Him.

But something else happened as well.  I discovered that when it comes to the Gospel, my non-Christian friends have a similar "been there, heard that" attitude.  Yet, they were willing to read and listen to various sections of "Eli." More importantly, they seemed to suddenly have their ears opened to the truth that had always been before them.  I was amazed.  Suddenly and quite surprisingly I realized "Eli" was also an evangelical tool.

Does that make the novel a substitute for the real thing?  Absolutely not!  This is just a vague appetizer.  The real feast is in the Book that most scholars admit is the greatest document ever written.  Yet sometimes it takes an appetizer to work up a hunger for the Main Course.  I hope you find that's the case with "Eli." For the Believer, my prayer is that the book will help you see old truths in a fresh, startling light.  And for those still searching, my prayer is that the novel will help remove confusion or preconceptions of who Jesus Christ really was ... and who He really is.

Sample Selections

It spoils the fun by explaining which scenes represent which accounts that are in the Gospel.  (Don’t worry, you’ll know this one by the end).  Here, our lead character, Conrad Davis, learns the importance of faith …

“Jake?” Conrad yelled into the camper. “Trevor?”

There was no answer, only the howling wind outside.

“Anybody in here?”

Still nothing. He pulled his head from the camper and shut the door.

“Nobody?” Suzanne shouted.

“No,” he yelled back.

She turned to look down the row of deserted RVs and campers. “Where could they be?”

 He shook his head and glanced back to the farm house. It was also deserted.

Twenty minutes had passed since they’d kissed.  Just long enough to climb back down the ridge…and just long enough to find themselves caught in the middle of the growing storm.  Now wind tore and tugged at their clothes as rain pelted their faces.

“What’s that sound?” Suzanne yelled as she pulled back her hair, trying to keep it from slapping her eyes.

“What?”

“That roar, where’s it coming from?”

Conrad heard it now, too. But it was more than hearing it.  He could feel it --  in his body, vibrating through the air, through the ground.  An earthquake?  No, not here.  But it had that same ominous rumble.  He looked toward the barn, then out to the pasture, squinting into the wind.

“Connie!  Over there!”

He turned to see Suzanne pointing at the storm cellar by the pump house.   The door was open and Jake stood down in the steps, waving and shouting at them.

Conrad grabbed Suzanne’s hand and yelled, “Come on!”  They started forward, tucking their heads down, fighting to keep their balance against the wind. Conrad stole a glance to Jake.  The man stood half in and half out of the cellar waving and shouting, though it was impossible to hear him over the wind and growing roar.

A loud CRACK exploded above their heads.  Conrad looked to see a giant tree limb tearing from it’s trunk.  “Look out!” He pushed Suzanne to the ground, instinctively throwing himself over her.  The limb slammed down with a powerful WHOMP, its smaller branches slapping their bodies, but the main limb miraculously missing them.

Conrad scrambled back to his feet, pulling Suzanne with him.  “Let’s go!”  Branches whipped and scratched as they crawled through and over them.  The wind grew louder; the roar nearly deafening.

They were close enough to hear Jake’s voice now, as he continued shouting and waving.  “Hurry!  Hurry!”

They stumbled out of the remaining branches, half falling, then running as fast as they could across the wet grass.  The rain was turning to hail.  It began clicking and clattering all about them. 

“Hurry!”

Finally they arrived, breathless and soaked to the skin.

“You guys all right?” Jake yelled.

They nodded.  “Where is everybody?” Conrad shouted.

“Down here!” a voice called from below. 

He looked down the steep wooden steps to see a Coleman lantern glowing on a table.  Familiar faces of the group were huddled around it, at least a dozen. More in the shadows.

He turned back to Jake as they helped Suzanne down the slippery steps. “What’s that noise?” he shouted.

Jake motioned to his left.  Conrad turned and sucked in his breath.  Out in the field, a hundred yards from the lane and two hundred yards up it, was a swirling vortex of wind and cloud and debris.  A tornado.  He’d seen enough of them on TV and in the movies, but it took a moment to register that this was the real thing.

“Where’s Eli?” Jake shouted.

“Isn’t he here?”

Jake shook his head.  “I thought he was with you!  Must have gone on one of those prayer walks of his!”

“You mean he’s out there!?” Conrad yelled.

“Everyone else is accounted for!”

Conrad fought back his panic.  He saw Jake doing the same.  Neither said a word.  They turned and resumed searching the pastures, the outbuildings, looking down the lane.  From time to time Conrad would steal a peek over to the funnel cloud as it continued to approach. What incredible, awesome power.

There was another crack, then a tearing sound.

“Look out!”

Conrad turned just in time to see a handful of shingles from the barn’s roof heading for them.  They ducked, dropping to the stairs, as several crashed around them.  Two or three struck the door, knocking it out of Jake’s hand.  The wind threw it backwards, snapping off one of its hinges.  The people below cried out in fear.

“Get down here!” Robert’s voice shouted. “Get down here where it’s safe!”

Conrad turned to Jake and yelled over the wind, “Your brother’s right, we better get below!”

“You go!  I’m staying!”

“Jake!”

The big guy shook his head and continued to scan the fields.

It was useless to debate.  Jake may not be the brightest bulb in the pack and there were times Conrad could barely stand his good ol’ boy mentality, but there was something about his commitment and unswerving dedication to Eli--like a bull dog refusing to leave his master—that told him it would do no good to argue. 

“Connie!” Robert yelled.  He’d taken a tentative step up the stairs. “Jake! Get down here!”  Others from the group joined in, demanding they come down and join them where it was safe.

Conrad hesitated.  He turned back to the twister. It had closed its distance to them by half.  It was now fifty yards to the left of the lane, a hundred yards ahead.  The air pressure began dropping so quickly he suddenly found it difficult to catch his breath.

“Connie!” Suzanne’s voice had joined the chorus from below.  “Please come down!”

Then, without warning, Jake scrambled out into the wind.

“Jake!”

He grabbed the door and tried to pull it back down. Realizing he needed help, Conrad joined him.  The wind shrieked, its force so powerful, it was difficult to stand.  Hail and flying mud stung his face. Jake had hold of the metal handle so Conrad grabbed the rough wooden edge of the door.  Together they pulled, digging in, tugging with all of their might.  But the wind was too strong.  The door bucked and banged but refused to cooperate.

“Get behind it!” Jake yelled.  “We gotta push!”

Conrad nodded and joined Jake as they scrambled behind the door.  The roar filled his ears, water and mud spattered into his eyes, his mouth.  He spat as, together, they shoved against the door, arms and shoulders pushing, feet slipping on muddy wet grass. It took three tries until they finally managed to lift it up.  Hanging on, they scurried to the other side and begin pulling it down.  For a moment they nearly had it, until a gust caught the door, ripping it out of their hands and off the remaining hinges.  It tumbled and cartwheeled away.  The people below screamed.

Conrad dropped back into the cellar three or four steps, catching his breath, wiping the mud from his eyes with one hand while holding the wet concrete wall for support with the other.  Jake followed him by one or two steps. But, despite the yelling and pleadings from below, both continued standing, squinting into the wind and hail and mud.

Suddenly Jake shouted, “There he is!”

“Where?”

“Coming down the lane!”

Conrad took another step higher and then another until he could see past Jake.  Sure enough, there was Eli, strolling down the gravel road.  Strolling!  The towering funnel loomed behind him and the man was strolling!  Except for his flapping clothes and flying hair he seemed completely untouched.  And, instead of panicking for his life, he appeared to be enjoying the experience.  Amidst the wind and rain and hail and debris it almost looked like he was laughing!

“Eli!” Jake took a step higher up the stairs and waved.  “Eli!”

Eli spotted him and waved back.

“Get in here!” Jake yelled.

But Eli only grinned, motioning to the spectacle around him.  And then he did something even more incredible.  He motioned for the two of them to come out and join him!

Conrad stared, dumbfounded. 

The black, shrieking funnel suddenly shifted direction.  It no longer approached the lane.  Instead it began running parallel to Eli, less than sixty yards from his right. Fence posts near him shuddered.  Some ripped out, exploding into splinters, flipping and whipping barbed wire. Yet Eli was completely unaffected… not only unaffected, but enjoying the experience!

Once again he waved to them.  Down below, his followers were screaming in terror and Eli was waving for them to join him?  Things could not have been any more absurd.  Well, actually, they could.

Suddenly Jake turned to Conrad and shouted, “I’m going!”

“What!?” Conrad yelled, “Are you crazy!”

Again Eli waved. 

Jake hesitated, obviously frightened and yet...

“Jake, don’t be—“

Eli waved again.

“Jake don’t—“

And then Jake stepped up out of the cellar and into the storm. Conrad lunged for him,  but he was too late.  “Jake, come back!  Jake!” 

But Jake was not coming back.  He started walking toward Eli.

It was a nightmare.  Down below people were screaming in fear.  Up above, the approaching tornado thundered and roared -- pieces of building, branches, debris, hail, everything was flying, swirling around the periphery of the funnel.  And there, in the midst of all the chaos and confusion, two men walked toward each other.

A chunk of corrugated metal banged and rattled, barely giving Conrad enough warning to duck as it flew overhead.  He inched back up, keeping his eyes just high enough above the ground to see. 

Jake continued walking, his eyes riveted to Eli.  The wind seemed to have no serious effect upon him either. Except for the blowing of his clothes and hair, it was as if the storm didn’t exist.  Eli kept right on grinning at him in encouragement and Jake kept right on walking.

Again, the cloud shifted course. Now it was heading directly toward the two. 

“LOOK OUT!” Conrad shouted.  But they couldn’t hear.  He staggered up another step shouting into the wind. “LOOK OUT!”

To Jake’s left a rusting cultivator creaked loudly, then groaned, then exploded into a cloud of flying metal.  Jake spun around to see the giant pieces of iron and steel lifting into the air. That’s when he panicked.  Instead of turning back to Eli, he looked to the cloud, to the giant black snake whipping and roaring toward him. He could not look away.  Despite Eli’s shouting, he could not look back. His steps began to falter, then stumble. The wind pulled at him harder, nearly dragging him from his feet. 

Eli continued to shout, trying to get his attention.  But it did no good. By now they were only a few yards apart.  But Jake did not hear.

The funnel approached, drawing so close that its outer edges began to engulf them.  Jake fought it, staggering, using all of his strength to stay on his feet.  But it did no good.  The two were so close they could practically touch, but Jake would not take his eyes off the wind and look at Eli.  Suddenly his feet lifted from the ground and he cried out.  It was as if he had jumped or skipped. He came back down hard, stumbling, nearly falling before he was lifted up again -- only this time he continued to rise.

He twisted toward Eli, desperately reaching out to him, screaming in horror.  But he was too late.  Jake’s hand was just out of reach. Eli lunged for him.  At the last second he managed to catch his waist, the back of his belt, and then he pulled down hard.  The big man fell backwards onto the ground. Eli stooped down and began helping him up.  And a moment later the two stood facing each other in the howling gale.

Conrad continued to watch, huddled on the steps, peering into the black wind.   He could see Jake staring straight into Eli’s face now, obviously afraid to look anywhere else.  Eli spoke to him then turned to face the funnel cloud.  Slowly raising his hand, he shouted.  It was impossible for Conrad to make out the words. Whatever they were, they were brief… but their impact, astonishing.

Instantly the wind started to die.  The howling faded. Conrad watched in amazement as the black wall of wind and water began to dissolve.  Items started falling back to earth, raining around Eli and Jake, raining around Conrad and the storm cellar. The cloud turned light gray.  In a matter of seconds it had dissipated into nothing but a rain storm, the final wisps of black vapor disappearing even as he watched.  Now there was only rain and falling debris.

Eli and Jake turned and started back toward the cellar. Cautiously, Conrad rose, staring in unbelief, glancing up to make sure he wouldn’t be hit by falling objects. At last he stepped out of the cellar.

Others followed, carefully emerging, looking as baffled and as astonished as Conrad.  Several moments passed before Eli arrived.  He wasn’t angry but the joy in his eyes was missing.  Instead it was replaced by a type of sadness… and disappointment.

“Where is your faith?” he called out.  Then, shaking his head, he added,   “When will you stop doubting me?”

The group exchanged guilty glances. Most would not look at Eli.  But Conrad did.  And when their eyes connected he saw no condemnation, just that sad disappointment.  Eli repeated the question. Although it was for everyone, Conrad knew that for that particular moment, it was mostly for him.

“When will you stop doubting?”

* * * * *

On the way up the mountain (to what will soon be the transfiguration), our hero has a heart to heart with Eli and learns of God's agenda for those who put their trust in Him ...

"I just think you made a mistake when you asked me to come along."                       

"Why's that?" Eli asked.                                                                       

"Every time you turn around, I'm disagreeing with you."                                           

"That's all part of the process, Connie."                                                 

"Process?"

"The dying process.  You heard me say that the first day we met.  Unless a seed falls to the ground and dies, it cannot bear fruit.”                                                        

Conrad took a weary breath.  "Does it always have to be so difficult?"

Eli chuckled as they continued traipsing up the Arkansas mountain.  Actually, to call it a mountain might be an exaggeration; it was more like a very large hill near the base of the Ozarks, not far from Fort Smith.  Once again, the air hung heavy with humidity, causing Conrad to drip in perspiration while struggling to catch his breath.  Then, of course, there were the insects.  A recent bout with chiggers had left his ankles raw and itching.  Today's specialty seemed to be flies and mosquitoes.  But Conrad was not complaining.  He was glad to be here.  Jake and his brother, Robert, followed several steps behind.  They were the only ones from the group who had been invited.  For whatever reason, Eli had felt the need to spend special time with the three of them this afternoon.

Eli continued.  "All your life, you've been taught to think with fleshly logic.  And, admittedly, you've become quite good at it.  But you're more than flesh, Connie.  You're spirit.  And to understand things of the Spirit, you must die and be reborn in spirit."

"You're not suggesting that I crawl back in my mother's womb and start at the beginning, are you?

Eli smiled.  "Not physically.  But in many ways you have had to start at the beginning."

"Learning these 'Kingdom of God' principles," Conrad said.                              

Eli nodded.

"That's what I'm talking about.  It seems I no sooner get a handle on one of those principles than you turn around and raise the stakes on me.  I mean, first there's this business of you being the only way to the Father.  Then that our method of doing things is all backwards compared to yours, then this business of losing our lives to find it.  And now your claims of actually being God?"                                                

“It's not so easy to accept, is it?"

“Or to live.  But when I finally make the leap and try to embrace these things, you raise the bar again . . . and then again."

There was a moment of silence before Eli finally spoke. "Connie, when I left Heaven

and took on your humanity, it was to cleanse you and draw you closer to my Divinity.  I don't want you reborn but then walking around like a baby the rest of your life.  I want you reborn so you can become a mature man of God.  I want you to be led by the Spirit, not your flesh.  I want you to become like me."

Conrad snorted in disbelief.  "There's no way I'll ever be like you."

"If you keep saying yes to me, that's exactly what you'll become."

Conrad looked at him.

"Those are your options," Eli said.  "You can become more and more like me, or you can continue crawling around like a baby, reborn but never maturing.  The choice is yours."

"Choices," Conrad mused, as he grabbed a twig from a rhododendron and began to methodically snap it.  "You're always forcing us to make choices."

"That's the game plan, my friend - encouraging you to choose my way over your way,  to choose my wisdom over the world's wisdom . . . to choose my Spirit over your flesh.

It's all a matter of choice."

"You sound like a professor friend of mine back in California."         

"Dr.  Endo?"

 Conrad's mouth opened.  "You know him?"

 "Of course I know him."

"About his theories?  You're familiar with parallel universes?"

 "Familiar with them?" Eli grinned.  "I created them."

  Conrad slowed to a stop.  "Then you know-” He fought to keep his voice level.  "You know about the car accident?"

  Eli smiled warmly.  "I was there when you cried out to me, Connie.  I was there when you chose to seek my help."

* * * * *

In telling the Gospel as if it were to happen today this is one of my favorite scenes.  It represents the woman caught in adultery.  However, since adultery is not a capital offense in America, I had to find something that was. What I love about this encounter is the way Jesus (Eli in the novel) takes our worldly questions and redirects them to the eternal issues.  In this story, our hero, Conrad Davis, has done all he can to prevent the meeting from taking place.  He knows EBN (the folks trying to destroy Eli) has set the perfect trap, a no win situation anyway you look at it.  Or so he thinks ...

"If you ask me, this whole discussion is a waste of time.”                               

"Why do you say that, Mr. Lazlo?" EBN anchorperson Karen Deutsch asked.  She looked directly into the camera's prompter where she could see the video image of Herbert Lazlo, the father whose son had been murdered eight years earlier by Ellen Perkins.  He and his wife sat in their darkly paneled living room some three hundred miles away in the tiny community of Kirby, while here at the Women's Correctional Facility in Gatesville, Texas, Karen Deutsch sat with Ellen Perkins, Eli Shepherd, and the rest of the EBN remote video crew.  It was the video conference that Gerald McFarland had agreed to set up - the interview that Conrad had pleaded, had begged Eli to avoid at any cost.

Lazlo's answer was husky and to the point.  "There weren't no fancy TV people and preachers around when she was butchering my boy.  I don't recall nobody here discussing whether or not he should get to live.  And there weren't nobody offerin' to give him a second chance when she was hacking off pieces of his body and he was screamin' for mercy!"

Conrad stood just out of camera range, watching as Ellen Perkins closed her eyes and quietly lowered her head.  At twenty-five, she looked like the girl next door: shortly cropped auburn hair, freckles across the bridge of her nose, and a smile full of personality.  But she was not smiling now.  Nor was Eli, who sat beside her.

It had taken most of the afternoon for the EBN crew to set up in this large conference room of beige cinderblock walls, yellowed linoleum, and white acoustical ceiling.  It was at least a four-camera setup - three stationed around the newly refinished oak table here at the Correctional Facility, and one, maybe two, over at the Lazlos' home in Kirby.  One hundred yards outside the barred windows and wire-meshed glass sat the network's finest remote - a semitrailer full of state-oft-the-art audio and video equipment.  It hummed quietly, pumping electricity through thick black cables to a half dozen glaring quartz lights strategically placed around the table.  In exchange, another set of cables carrying the meeting's sounds and images snaked their way back to the truck's control room, where the director called the angles and beamed them across the country for the live telecast.  EBN had spared no expense on this shoot, and Conrad certainly understood why.  A trap this elaborate and thorough called for only the best equipment and crew.

Karen Deutsch responded gently to the father's accusation.  "Your son's murder was eight years ago, Mr. Lazlo.  People change.  You can see that Ms. Perkins is a different person.  Look at all the good she's done.  Would demanding justice by putting an end to that goodness make things any better?"

Suddenly Mrs. Lazlo blurted out, "How much good would my son have done if he'd been allowed to live?" She was a frail, bony woman who, until now, had been able to keep her emotions in check.  "He was a God-fearing boy, always helping others and  wanting to do good.  But we'll never know how much good he could have done, will we?" Her voice began to tremble.  "Will we!"

It was the perfect dramatic moment, and Karen Deutsch used it to its fullest potential.  Slowly, she turned to the young woman sitting across the table.  "Mrs.  Lazlo has an excellent point, Ellen.  If you showed no mercy to their son, why should you expect any in return?"

Ellen remained staring at the table.  "I can't," she answered hoarsely.  "Not if people are looking for justice." She began to slowly shake her head.  "I can't."

Conrad cringed as Eli reached over and discretely took her hand.  It might have been the right thing to do, but not with twenty million viewers watching.

Karen Deutsch turned to her camera.  "That's really the question, isn't it? justice or mercy.  That's the dilemma in a nutshell."

Conrad glanced across the room at McFarland.  Those were the exact words he'd used on Eli at the park in Tulsa, back when he'd first presented the challenge.  Obviously, Deutsch had been thoroughly briefed and carefully coached.

She continued as if thinking through these observations for the very first time.  "Does one embrace justice and capital punishment . . . or oppose justice and plead for mercy?  The two really are incompatible; they cannot exist side by side." Then, turning to Eli, she asked, "I was wondering, Eli - I mean, it's never really been clear.  Which of the two positions do you hold?"

There it was.  Subtle, smooth.  Perfect in its simplicity.  The entire interview, the video link, the millions of dollars of equipment, it had all been positioned for this one question.  Conrad knew that the answer didn't matter.  It was the perfect no-win setup that would expose Eli's inconsistency.  One that Dr. Kerston and the boys back in Georgia must already be celebrating over.  Since the beginning of his public ministry, Eli had stressed these two opposites: holiness and mercy, holiness and mercy.  McFarland had been right.  It was a paradox; the two could not possibly coexist.  And now, finally, he would have the opportunity to discredit Eli in front of the entire nation.

“Eli?" Deutsch repeated.

 Eli smiled quietly.  "I'm afraid you're asking the wrong question."

"What do you mean?"

"You're giving me two options, ‘A’ or ‘B.’”

"Is there a problem with that?"

"Not unless the answer happens to be 'Three.'

"What?" Deutsch asked.  "I'm sorry, I don't understand."

"I've come to heal souls, Karen, to save lives.  I'm not here to play politics."

"But surely this is a valid ques -

"Let the person who is holy, the one with no sin, be the one to give Ellen the lethal injection."

 Silence stole over the room.  "I take it that means you're opposed to capital punishment then?" Deutsch asked.

Eli shook his head.  "The issue is not capital punishment." He turned to Ellen.  "The issue is whether you have sincerely turned from your sins and have earnestly asked for God's forgiveness."

Ellen looked deeply into his eyes and swallowed.  "I have, Mr. Shepherd, with all my heart." Her voice grew thicker as she continued.  "I have turned from my sin, and a day doesn't go by that I don't ask God Almighty to somehow forgive me."

"Then" - Eli broke into his famous grin - "you are forgiven."

"And what about our son?" Mr. Lazlo demanded over the video link.  "What about the Scriptures demanding blood to be shed for blood!  What about God's justice?"

Deutsch nodded, and being the calm voice of reason, asked, "That's true, Eli.  Doesn't the Bible clearly state that, except for the shedding of blood, there is no forgiveness?"

"Yes, it does," Eli agreed.  "And the Bible is always correct."

"But you just said she was forgiven."

"You can't have it both ways."

Eli nodded, "Yes."

The anchorperson shook her head.  " 'Yes' is no answer.  If Ellen here is forgiven, then where's God's justice?  Whose blood is going to be shed for her crime?"

"Mine."

"Pardon me?"

"The blood of God will be shed, instead of hers." 'The blood of - what are you saying?"

“I've forgiven Ellen's sins.”

"You?  You can't do that."

"Why not?"

“What about the Law of Moses?  The Scriptures?"

“They are being fulfilled."

"How? 

"Through me."

 Karen Deutsch hesitated, unsure how to continue.  "Eli, only God can forgive sin."

"That's right."

"Are you . . . are you claiming to be God?"

He leaned toward her slightly.  "Listen to me very carefully, Karen.  Before the Scriptures were written, before the Law was given, before Moses or anyone else existed . . . I am."

“Eli . . . are you saying you're God?"

Eli paused just long enough to make sure his answer was clearly understood.  And then he repeated the words: "I am."

Conrad, Karen Deutsch, Ellen, McFarland, the crew, the entire room stared in absolute astonishment and stunned shock.

* * * * *

I'm tempted to include the crucifixion scene here, but I don't want to ruin the read if you decide to get the novel.  But here's a taste of some of the resurrection ...

Maggie opened the door and stepped out, allowing Conrad to do the same.  But his feet had barely hit the pavement before an officer banged on the hood of the car, motioning for Trevor to move on.

"They're with me," McFarland called out.

"I don't care who they're with, they're not stopping here.  There's parking over the

next block."

"He's media." McFarland jabbed a thumb at Conrad.

"Move it!" the officer barked.

A baffled Maggie looked unsure whether to get in or stay out.

"I said move it!"

Reluctantly, she ducked back into the car.  Conrad leaned down and shouted into the window.  "I'll meet you across the street.  Just give me a couple minutes."

Trevor nodded and the Toyota lurched forward.

"Find out what you can!" Suzanne called as they pulled off.

Conrad gave a nod and immediately heard McFarland say, "So, your boy keeps making the news even when he's dead."

Conrad turned.  He was cool and matter-of-fact.  "You knew about the lynching, didn't you?"

McFarland blinked at his candor. Conrad repeated himself, this time feeling his anger rise.  "You knew they were going to kill him, didn't you?"

The big fellow shook his head.  "No," he said almost sadly.  "I did not know that.  I knew about the deal with Keith Anderson, I knew the arrest was coming.  But the lynching, I hadn't a clue."

Conrad stared a moment, unsure whether to believe him.  Not that it made much difference.

"Take a look at this, Connie." McFarland turned and started toward the building.  "You won't believe it." With some effort the big man ducked under the police tape.  Conrad followed.  They crossed the sidewalk and climbed the six steps to the entrance.  When they arrived at the open double doors, McFarland came to a stop.

"When the police got here, these doors were just like you see them now.  Both standing wide open.  And the funny thing is, there are no marks showing forced entry."

"What about other doors?" Conrad asked.  "The back?  Maybe a window?"

McFarland shook his head.  "Nothing." He motioned for Conrad to follow, and they entered the building.  "Because of your man's disturbing habit of raising folks from the dead, and those nasty rumors that he would do the same for himself, they posted not one but two guards over at that desk the last couple nights" He motioned toward a mahogany receptionist counter to their left.

"And what did they see?" Conrad asked.

"Nothing."

"What?"

McFarland cleared his throat.  "They said they were asleep."

Conrad threw him a look.  "Both of them?"

“That's what they say."

“While on duty?"

“That's the story."

“And they're saying it publicly?"

 McFarland looked at him a moment, then answered.  "They are now." He motioned for Conrad to follow.  "Come on.”

Beyond the mahogany counter were a handful of windowed offices, each with yellowed venetian blinds.  To the right was an old elevator and a set of stairs.  They headed right and took the stairs down into the basement.  Conrad felt the air cool as they descended.  When they hit the landing and turned, he saw glass doors leading to a moderate-sized room.  Though the walls, ceiling, and tile were dingy, the doors were much newer.  Through them he saw two officers and a photographer drinking coffee and talking.

McFarland pushed open the doors and they entered.  The place looked like some sort of laboratory.  Each wall had a counter and at least one stainless-steel sink and set of faucets.  In the center sat an old-fashioned operating table, complete with a surgical lamp hovering above it.  To their right was the only wall without a counter.  It contained what looked like a half-dozen stainless-steel freezer doors - each four feet high and two and a half feet wide.  Nothing unusual for a morgue.  However, the second door from the left was slightly different.  It had been blown off its hinges and lay on the floor below.  And the brushed, stainless-steel surface around the opening had been melted to a smooth glass finish.  It was as if some great energy had erupted from inside the vault.  An energy so intense that it had melted the surrounding steel.

At the moment a lab technician was kneeling beside the opening, carefully scraping samples.  Directly behind her, against the far wall, rested a steel table that had obviously been rolled out from inside the vault.

“What happened?" Conrad asked.

"You tell me," McFarland said.  "That was the freezer his body was in.  And that" - he motioned to the table - "was the gurney it was on."

Conrad started toward the freezer, but McFarland held out his hand.  "I wouldn't get too close if I were you.  We're not sure what happened in there."

Conrad nodded, then turned back to the table.  At one end sat a neatly folded sheet.  It was a blotchy beige and brown, its edges slightly singed.  "Where'd that come from?" he asked.

"It covered the body."

Conrad stared silently, trying to piece it together.

"Any ideas?" McFarland asked.

He shook his head.  "You?"

The big man sighed.  "The official theory is somebody broke into the building and

stole the body."

"That's absurd," Conrad scoffed.  "You said yourself there was no forced entry.  And

both guards falling asleep, then openly admitting it?  Come on, who are you kidding?  And this?”  He motioned toward the destroyed freezer compartment.  "I don't know what happened here, but it sure doesn't look like someone just rolled out the body and took it.”

McFarland nodded.  "And that half-baked cloth over.  To take the time to neatly fold it before leaving?”  He shook his head. “I know what you’re saying, but what other story-“

 "Connie."

 Conrad turned to see Suzanne barging through the glass doors, an officer catching up from behind, grabbing her arm. “Ma'am, I told you this is a restricted- "               

“I saw him!" she shouted breathlessly.

Conrad's mouth dropped.  "What?"

The officer tightened his grip and began pulling.  "You're going to have to come with-“

  “Eli!” she cried.  “I saw Eli!”